


A hand to hold

by SophieRomanoff97



Series: Sophie's Clintasha extravaganza [19]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 21:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18747586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieRomanoff97/pseuds/SophieRomanoff97
Summary: 'Dissociation is a way the mind copes with too much stress. People who dissociate may feel disconnected from themselves and the world around them.'But sometimes, all someone needs is a hand to hold and a voice to whisper that they're okay.





	A hand to hold

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! A quick thing I wrote during a dissociation episode. I realize this may not be what it feels like for some people but for me, this is what happens and what I feel. 
> 
> TW's for the stuff in the tags.
> 
> I apologise for the rambling and uneven tone to it but that's what happens.
> 
> If you suffer with this too, I am so sorry, ily, you're real and alive and not alone. You're okay.

It wasn't a gradual slip. She didn't notice it was happening. One moment she felt fine and the next things were hazy and she was filled with so much panic that she thought her heart might burst out of her chest.

Except she didn't have a chest. She didn't have a body because she wasn't real. She was watching the conversations happen, she was even participating in them except she wasn't. Not her. Not Natasha. Was she even Natasha? No, because she wasn't real. Not real not real not real. She wasn't alive. She wasn't alive, she was dead. Or this was a dream. Her whole life was a dream, maybe it was the dream after she'd died. A false world. A false life. A false person. Not real. Dead. Dead. Dead. Not real. Not alive. This is fake. Everything is fake. It's a video game. It's a simulation. We're in a game and we're being fucked with. This isn't real. Not a real life. Not alive. Dead. Or dreaming. Or dead and dreaming. Or trapped in a game with someone else pulling the strings. Just a memory. Did dead people have memories. Was this her dead brain throwing it's last hazy messages before everything went dark. This was it. Or had it already been it. This was reincarnation. She was someone else. Not Natasha. Someone else. No one else. No one. Nothing. Dead.

Hazy, fuzzy, blurry. Things were too bright. Too bright. Too clear. Too loud. Too quiet. Too sharp. Too hazy. Not real. Imagination. Thoughts. Not her thoughts. Not anyone's thoughts. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Dead.

There was pain when she pinched herself but it wasn't real. It didn't matter if it hurt, it didn't matter if she bled, nothing was real. Whoever had created her, whatever had created her, whoever or whatever was playing her in this game had simply created her to feel pain. Still wasn't real. Nothing was real. Dead. Dead. Dead-

"Natasha?" A calloused hand gripped hers, she wasn't surprised to find that when she looked down, she had blood under her nails and marks across her palm. She blinked, looking up from her hands.

"Natasha, hey. It's Clint, love, you're okay." The hand gripped hers tighter and she should have felt something. Happiness. Joy. Relief. All she felt was that nothingness and the pit of anxiety balled up in her stomach.

"Not real." She forced the words out through numb, fake lips. "Dead. Dreaming. Not real. Clint, I'm dreaming-" her breath hitched, nails now digging into his skin too.

"You're not dreaming, you're not dead, you are real. I've got you. You are Natasha Romanoff and I'm Clint Barton. We're at Shield, in Nick's office. We just got back from a mission in Berlin and we're debriefing." Clint murmured, making sure her gaze stayed on his face.

"D...dreaming-" Natasha mumbled, shaking her head in disbelief. "Not real."

"It's real, love. You _are_ real. And you are not dreaming. You're alive and you're healthy and you're okay and I am not going anywhere. Here, feel my hand. The bones, the nails, the dips in the skin, the rough patches. It's real. I'm real and you are the most real thing I've ever known. I've got you, Natasha. You are real and awake and alive, I promise. I promise."

Natasha didn't speak, just blinked at him, uncomprehending, fuzzy and confused and scared she would blink out of existence at any moment.

She dropped her head against his chest, shuddering and clutching at the neck of his shirt, desperate to feel something real under her fingertips. Something real in her grasp. "Real-" she gasped. "Don't let me go."

"I'll never let you go, Natasha, I've got you. I promise."

**Author's Note:**

> Here's some info in anybody is confused: https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/dissociative-disorders/
> 
> ❤❤❤


End file.
